


Companions React to Being Pregnant/Getting the Sole Survivor Pregnant

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [8]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Childbirth, Companions, Companions React, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: First comes love, then comes marriage.  Then comes baby in the baby carriage; granted, not always in that order.





	Companions React to Being Pregnant/Getting the Sole Survivor Pregnant

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

**Cait** : Cait squinted at the white stick, pants around her ankles, bathroom door locked. The blood roared in her ears, and yet, it had felt like her heart had stopped the moment the second line appeared. She ran a hand through her hair, yanking a few snarls out.  “Fuck.” She muttered, flinging the test down, the plastic slapping sharply against the bathroom tile.  A knock sounded at the door.

“Cait?  Are you alright?”  You asked, hearing the disruption and curious of its place in your bathroom.

“Yeah, fine – go away.”  It sounded meaner than she intended; her voice tight with the effort of trying not to cry.

“Are you sure?  You sound-“

“ _Yeah_.”

Cait heard you hesitate before the sound of fading footsteps sounded from the other side; she could imagine you, eyebrows furrowed, raising your hand to knock again – unsure if she had wanted you to chase her, before deciding that she was entitled to her personal space, and leaving, hurt.  Cait sighed shakily and buried her face in her hands.

Despite the familiarity of intimacy with you, pregnancy had been the last thing she’d thought would happen.  In retrospect, she didn’t know why she hadn’t been worried about it; but now it was here, a brutal reminder of her womanhood and all the  _joys_ that came with it, she thought bleakly.

She hated feeling so vulnerable – and a part of that had to do with the fact that she was still indisposed, on the toilet, like a sitting duck.  She pulled up her pants, picking up the pregnancy test as she did so, and cramming it back in the box it had come in.  Her stomach was doing flips, and she resisted the urge to vomit – she idly wondered if this was nerves or morning sickness.  How far along did she have to be before that happened?  How far along was she?  The only one in Sanctuary who could give her that insight was Curie, but that would mean telling her, which would make it…somehow more real than keeping it between herself and the stupid pregnancy test.  

Cait couldn’t bring herself to leave the bathroom. She found herself pacing as much as the small space would allow, crossing her arms, nails digging roughly into flesh, as if rejecting every nurturing, gentle act she was capable of, would make her somehow less pregnant.  Her arms pressed against her breasts, and she noted the soreness that grew from the pressure.  Were they always this sensitive, or was this a change brought about by her body for its newest house guest?

She wrung her arms back down to her sides, not able to ride this rabbit hole anymore.  She artlessly flung the door open, only to find herself nose to nose with you, your hand raised in a fist, as if you had been about to knock on the door again.

“Erhm…”

You brought the very same hand to the back of your neck, rubbing nervously.

“I didn’t mean to pry – but earlier, you just seemed so-“

Cait burst into tears.  You almost would’ve preferred she beat the crap out of you. Seeing Cait cry was…unnatural. Subsequently, foreboding.  

“Cait, talk to me.  What’s wrong?”  You tried to wrap your arms around her, but she lurched away from your touch.

“N-no, don’t.”

You let your arms drop to your sides.

“I-I can’t right now.  Ye touchin’ me is what got me in ta this mess in the firs’ place!”

You blinked, surprised.  Backtracking through the past few nights, you couldn’t remember doing anything that Cait had seemed averse to.  Every kiss, every caress, had been as familiar as coming home from work every evening.  You had held her hair back as she vomited from a stomach bug she had earlier in the week; and even in her clammy, nauseated state, she had clung to your arms, curled up into your chest at night, leaned into your presence.

“W-what mess?”

She sunk to the ground, burying her face in her hands.

“The one that involves me getting’ fat fer nine months, and then pushin’ a small watermelon out!”

You froze, struggling to decipher the strange sentence.

Fat?  Nine months? Pushing a watermelon  _where?_   Or rather, from  _what_?

You gasped, “You’re pregnant?”

Another round of sobs wracked Cait’s body, as elation, pure and sharp raced through yours.  You struggled to stifle it, seeing Cait’s distress.  The last thing she needed right now was you racing towards the nine-month deadline at warped speed.

“I – is that bad?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, wanting Cait to be happy like you were, and unnerved that she wasn’t.

“Is it bad?  What ta ye think?   _Me_?  A mother? Maybe the type ta eat their young or somethin’!”

You stared at her.

“I could ruin this kid like me own parents ruined me,” she snapped bitterly, bringing her arm harshly across her eyes, banishing the tears that clung to her lashes.  

“What kind o’ kid wants a violent drunk like me, as their mum?”

A breathless laugh escaped your throat, relieved.

“What?” She glowered out you, “This is funny to ya?”

You beamed, “It’s not that you don’t…want it?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, her eyes puffy from crying.

“Well, no, it’s nae that, but I’m nae righ’ fer it.”

You sighed, “Oh Cait,” you pulled her into your arms, and she let you this time.

“The fact that you’re even thinking about it’s welfare, before it’s even here shows that you can be a great mother.”

“Ye really think so?”

You planted a kiss in her hair.

“I really do.”

 **Curie:** Curie knew she was pregnant from the moment the first wave of morning sickness hit.  As the nausea welled in her gut, everything seemed to click into place; like when she finally solved a tough problem after spending days poring over concepts and working through potential solutions.  Excusing herself from breakfast, she had reached the toilet in just the nick of time.  Stooped over the toilet, she felt a warm touch smooth over her back, and she was grateful for your soothing touches.

“Are you sick?” you murmured, pressing a hand across her clammy forehead.  It was damp with perspiration as her body did its damnedest to expel whatever foul thing had disturbed it, but it wasn’t hot – just Curie warm.

“No, I ‘ave to take a test to confirm eet, but I…theenk I’m pregnant.”

She used her sleeve to dab at the corners of her mouth, as you stared at her, mouth gaping.

“P-pregnant?”

“But I have to take a test to confirm eet.” She tilted her head, as if confused at your surprise.

This led to you kneeling at Curie’s feet, both of your eyes transfixed on the two lines that had formed on the white stick; about twenty minutes after Curie had dropped that little bomb.

She nodded, unsurprised, “I was right; eet looks like I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant.” You repeated, “You’re pregnant.”

Curie made a face.

“You seem surprised?  Surely you knew zis was a possibility, seeing as we’ve engaged in-“

“Of course I knew it was a possibility,” you cut her off, “But to have it actually happen is…wow.”

She nodded again, “I agree – zis eez a new frontier for me too.  Pregnancy, zhe miracle of life; sings zhat would not ‘ave been possible for me before, are my life now.”

She looked thoughtful, save for the way she worried at her bottom lip.

“But,” she smiled suddenly, “zhis is exciting, no?   _Un bebe_!”  

She reached up to capture your face in her soft hands, “Our baby.”

You ducked your head into her lap, laughing a giddy laugh, as she reached to take one of your hands in her own, before bringing it up to press against her abdomen.

You pressed your lips against it, and she let her fingers thread through your hair, bathing you in a joy you never thought you’d feel again.

 **Danse** : Danse wandered into the dining area of your shared home in Sanctuary, still in boxer briefs and a t-shirt, having just rolled out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning for coffee and breakfast.

“Good morning!”  You beelined to press a sweet kiss to his cheek as he made his way to the table, before returning to setting said table.  Danse sat down at his usual spot, yawning.

“’Morning.”

You brought out two bowls of chicken noodle soup, embellished with bloodleaves, along with two mugs of coffee.

“What’s the occasion?”  He gave a small smile as he inhaled the aroma of a home cooked meal.

You shrugged, “Was just craving it.”

He shot you a look, “That’s strange – you only ever like soup when you’re sick.”

You shrugged again, digging in.  You could feel his gaze on your through breakfast, he, delighting in your cooking at a much slower, more normal pace, as you inhaled your portion.

“They’ll think I’m starving you at this rate, slow down.”

You forced a giggle and settled for bringing your wrist across your mouth briefly, as if to emphasize the vigor with which you had just eaten.

“Sorry – guess I’m just hungry today.”

Danse studied you; you didn’t look sick, and you weren’t acting sick, but something was somehow…off.  Beneath the table, your fingers drummed nervously against the tops of your thighs.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?”  You asked, trying to sound casual, but transparent in your attempts to divert his attention.  Not being able to place what exactly was different though, Danse decided to humor you.

“Today I was just going to work on my power armor, maybe reinforce the house a bit, winter will be here soon after all.”

You nodded, trying your hardest to act like you were listening instead of plotting.

“Sounds like a good day,” You rose to collect the dishes, not able to keep your face straight, and needing an excuse to turn your back on the skeptical man across the table.

“While you’re at it though,” your heart hammered in your chest, and you had to force yourself not to laugh through your words. “You should take some time to babyproof some things.”

The shocked silence that followed was almost enough to ruin your nonchalant act, until Danse broke it, luckily.

“…what?”

You tried to make yourself busy, but between you and Danse, the kitchen never got terribly dirty.  You settled on scrubbing the same plate, in the same spot, for the painstaking minutes that followed.

“Well, you know, there are so many sharp things laying around, and so many weird drop-offs that the baby could fall off of, we need to make sure the house is safe for when the baby is born.”

You couldn’t resist any longer; you risked a peek at Danse, whose eyebrows were as high as he could physically allow them to go.

“Baby?” he choked out.

You turned to face him fully, “Yes, our baby.”

You beamed at him, tears beading at the corners of your eyes despite the fact that you  _swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry._

In the next instance, Danse was picking you up, and spinning you around in classic romance novel style.  You giggled, wrapping your legs around him, as he pulled you into an enthusiastic kiss.

“I’m going to be a dad?”

He whispered against you, his nose pressed to yours; you were so close, you almost didn’t see his own tears.

“You’re going to be a dad.” You whispered back, pressing your mouth against his again, as he laughed breathlessly, giddily.  

You parted, foreheads touching, his eyes fixated on where your womb was, imagining the swell that would soon become obvious, a boy with your eyes and curls, or a girl with his stoic demeanor, and love of tinkering.  After joining the Brotherhood, he thought he’d never find a new dream; and then he had met you, and when he met you, he’d thought he’d never fall in love again. He was proven wrong the day he held his newborn for the first time, and he figured that for all his planning, being wrong wasn’t always such a bad thing.

 **Deacon** : “Tell me something,” you murmured, laying on your back, your head resting in the crook of Deacon’s shoulder as he played with your fingers.

“Hmm.  Banging your head against the wall for one hour burns one hundred and fifty calories.”

You snorted as he laughed.

“Tell me something else.”

You turned to look at him, trying to stall your own bit of news to tell him.

“How about we play a game,” he planted a small kiss on your nose.  “Two truths and a lie, it’s when you tell two-“

“I think I’ve got it.”  You cut him off wryly.

“Alright, alright, I’m a master though, so I’ll go first.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics but didn’t protest further.

“Okay, one, my real name isn’t Deacon, two, I’m a natural redhead, and three…I’m secretly a synth!”  His mouth made an O shape in exaggerated shock.

You giggled, “Well, obviously your name isn’t Deacon, I mean, honestly, is that even a real name?  So, one has to be true.  Two is definitely true, because I mean…c’mon, the  _curtains do match the drapes_ ,” you let your gaze flicker suggestively downward for a moment, before continuing, “and three is definitely true, so I think three is the lie.”

He shot you a haughty look, “How sure are you that three is a lie though?”

Your cheeks warmed, “Trust me, I’m sure.”  You shook the nerves that had suddenly set in, off.

“Seriously though, I know you too well, so that was easy! I think this game is defined for people who haven’t seen each other naked, and do robot witness protection!”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “Well I know everything about you too, you know.”

You pressed your mouth into a thin line, “I seriously doubt that.”

“Fine, then put your money where your mouth is and prove it.”

You bit your lip; the moment of truth. Literally.

“Okay, “you took a deep breath, “One, I once arm-wrestled a deathclaw – and won, two, I was born over two hundred years ago, and three…I’m pregnant.”

You watched him, not wanting to be so obvious, but not being able to look away either, as the news took to Deacon’s face.

Confusion.  Realization. Shock.  Happiness.  Sadness. Happiness again?  Maybe a weird hybrid between the two?

“H-hey, you’re only supposed to say one lie,” he laughed thinly, “you cheated, so I win!”

Your gaze never wavered, as his cheesy grin did.

“Y-you’re serious?”  He asked quietly.

“I am.”

He let out a shaky breath.  “And it’s…mine?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Ours, but yeah – you’re obviously the dad.”

He flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, for once, his sharpened wit, sheathed for the time being.  His gunning confidence, holstered.

“I never thought…after Barbara, I never thought I’d…”

You propped yourself up on your arms, looking down softly at him.

“Well, here’s your second chance,” you murmured.

“Does this really happen – do people really get second chances like this?”  his eyes glimmered wetly without the shadowy protection of his sunglasses.

“You do,” you pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

“A family,” he whispered.

“You, me, and our baby – a family.”

 **Hancock** : “Christ.”  Hancock murmured, as the two of you sat, perched on the edge of the bed you shared. He was looking down at the floor, his expression, unreadable.  Your gaze was fixed on him, trying to decipher his every move.

“Yeah, I know.”  You agreed.

“I-I didn’t even think it was possible, my being a ghoul and all.”

Hancock never stammered, you were hyperaware of the distance between you and him on the bed, larger than normal, but not cold like it was when you would argue with him.

“But it is.  And here we are.”

He turned abruptly to look at you.

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

You smacked his arm, “Of course it’s yours! What do you take me for?”

You glared at him.

He raised his hands in a surrendering motion, “Alright, I’m sorry, I just – you can understand I just need to verify, right? I mean, one would expect that swimmers don’t hold up well under radiation,” he said dryly, but the apology was still there.

“God, are we doing this?”  he sounded choked up; something you had only heard twice in your life; once when you had taken him to your husband’s corpse in Vault 111, as he watched you collect his wedding band, the last physical remnant of your marriage you had. And then again, when he had found you in a pool of your own blood, after an investigation gone wrong.

“I want to,” you said quietly, “I hope you do too.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to – I mean, you and me? A family?  You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me, and this baby?  This baby would tie for first.”

“But?”

He looked at you doubtfully, “Even if somehow my splooge worked, who’s to say it isn’t…defective?  What if we have flipper babies, or our baby has a tail?  Or they’re a…oh, I don’t know, a super mutant?”

“Babies were sometimes born with tails during the pre-war days, without all the radiation, you know.”

“I’m being serious here.”

You sighed, before scooting closer to Hancock, and tentatively resting your head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re right, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take with you,” you reached up to rest a palm against his cheek, gently bringing him to look at you.  “It’s a chance I want to take with you.”

He pulled you into a warm hug, and the two of you sat on the bed, huddled in silence.  

“…I guess that means I have to cut down on the chems, huh?”

 **MacCready** : “Dad!”

“Duncan!” MacCready crooned with matching enthusiasm as he scooped the boy up in his arms, before bringing him in for a giant bear hug.  You sat at the table a few feet away, reading a copy of the Boston Bugle, trying to take it easy as you had been…fatigued, for the past couple of weeks.

“Dad! Dad! Guess what?” Duncan chirped.

“What?”  MacCready perched braced Duncan in his arms.

“I’m going to be a big brother!”  You froze.  Uh-oh.

From your peripheral vision you could see MacCready’s eyebrows pull up.

“Huh?”

“It’s true!” Duncan cheered, before pointing straight at you.  “She told me so herself!  But she told me to keep it a secret because it’s supposed to be a surprise!”

Duncan stopped short suddenly.  

“Oh…”

He looked at you, eyes wide, his little, cherub mouth a cartoonish O of horror at the realization that he had let the cat out of the bag.

“…Surprise Dad!”

MacCready turned to look at you, his shocked face matching Duncan’s in intensity.  

“…surprise ‘Dad’,” you smiled weakly.

“Dad, I can’t wait to be a big brother!” Duncan exclaimed suddenly.

“Oh yeah?”  MacCready asked, with just enough attention to pass.  His eyes were still wide, and distant, as he struggled to make sense of the sudden shift his world had made.

“Yeah!  You, and me, and her,” he raised a chubby finger to point at you again, “and the baby are going to be a family!”

MacCready rubbed Duncan’s back, a watery smile on his face.  “Yeah, we are, aren’t we?”

MacCready’s gaze flickered to you again, and you met it, as his eyes shined wetly.  You smiled at him, and his heart twinged painfully.  He hoped Lucy could see him now, see him growing and being a better man.  See how he would do things differently for you and for this new baby, and for Duncan.  Honor the life he had tried and failed to build with her.  He hoped wherever she was, that she was looking down on him now, proud of the progress he made, and happy he had found a new beginning, where he had been left with only loose ends before.

 **Nick Valentine** : Nick loved being the big spoon to your little spoon; it made him feel more human, and more  _him_ than anything else.  The way your soft skin slipped so naturally against him; your heartbeat throbbing against him.  The way he always seemed to arise, bathed in your scent.  Tonight though, your back against his chest felt like a wall, rather than a warm invitation.

“Hey, doll…is everything okay?”  He asked hesitantly.

You sighed, before rolling over, so that you were facing the ceiling.

“I…gave birth to a baby boy, before the bombs dropped.” You hesitated.

“And then, the next time I see that baby boy, after surviving such a terrible thing, I find that he’s….not a baby anymore.”  Your voice wobbled at the end.

“I missed it.”  A tear slid down your cheek.

“I missed him, and I missed motherhood.”  A sob escaped you.

You pinched your eyes shut as Nick pulled you against him, the whirr beneath fiberglass soothing the raw edges of your grief as it ripped through you; like taping a razer blade before swallowing it.  As smothered by your own grief as you were, you weren’t ignorant to the pain that flashed across Nick’s own features; his own guilt not being able to provide you with the opportunities to try motherhood again.

“Sssh, it’s okay doll.”  His good hand stroked your hair softly, as you cried into him.  But he wasn’t so sure himself; this uncertainty keeping him up until well after you had cried yourself to sleep.

 **Piper** : Piper’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of those two little lines appearing on the white stick.

Pregnant?  Her?

Her heart squeezed uncertainly.  She wasn’t sure of a lot; it was why she was an investigative journalist.  She was always the skeptic, and couldn’t trust the answers others gave her, needing to find them herself.  She hadn’t been sure in raising Nat, after all, good of a sister as she was, a sister wasn’t a mom.  She had been unsure in the moment she completely gave herself to you, wholly uncertain that it wouldn’t end with her coming out on the other side in one piece. And she was uncertain now, as one of the scariest answers she had ever uncovered stared her right in the face.

She was fine with kids, and she had done fine with Nat, but motherhood was the boondocks; an unfamiliar place she had always planned on visiting  _eventually_ , in the abstract.  But now it was here, right now, real.

She tried to think clearly; first things first, she had to tell you, right?  And then…what, go to the doctor?  Or rather, take the –  _her_  baby for their first checkup?

Her reason was clouded by images of a young girl in her newsie cap, with your eyes and curls, and a young boy with her wit and healthy dose of skepticism.  A dash of snark.  Would she tolerate that kind of snark from her kid?  Would you?  All the more reason to tell you; so that you guys could sync up your – she swallowed –  _parenting_ styles, in time for the, uh,  _deadline_.  

Right, first she had to tell you.

She walked to her desk, and sat down before her typewriter, feeling heavier, and clumsier than normal.  She knew it was silly; she wasn’t even noticeable yet, and still, she couldn’t shake the pregnant feeling that had settled in after confirming the test. You were out in the Commonwealth, doing who knows what, for who knows who.  She missed you terribly, but now she couldn’t deny that she was secretly grateful you hadn’t taken her along this time; I mean, with a baby on the way? Not to mention, obtaining a working pregnancy test would’ve been exponentially more difficult on the road, never mind taking it.

She slid a fresh piece of paper into the typewriter, which was well stocked with ink.  She began tapping away;

_BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENTS_

Surely, you’d pick up a copy of  _Publick Occurrences_  at some point.  

 **Gage** : “Hey, I need you to pick a couple of things up for me.”

He sighed; he wasn’t your damn maid, but also – he couldn’t say no to you.

“Bottles, cloth, clothe pins, …”  Idly, he noted the weirdly domestic nature of your list, but thought nothing of it.

“Oh, and if you happen to find a crib, that would be great.”

He choked, “A  _crib_?”

You slapped him on the back.

“Breathe.” You reminded him.  

The large man nearly slid off the bar stool he had been perched atop of.

He lurched forward with a wild gasp, hacking and sputtering; “What for?” he croaked.

You pursed your lips as your cheeks warmed, “The baby, of course.”

“What baby?”

You hesitated, as his gaze bore into you.

“Our baby.” You said quietly, not able to meet his eyes.

You were hypervigilant of the distance between you two as a few silent moments passed.  You had no idea where Gage was with respect to you, but you were too afraid to look and find out.  You were surprised when a pair of strong arms suddenly swooped down to envelop you.

“Gage!” You squeaked.

“I-I’m going to be a daddy?”  His voice was gruff, and he buried his face into your shoulder.  You felt wetness seep through your shirt.

“I’m really going to be a daddy?”

You beamed, reaching up an arm to curl around him the best you could in your current position.

“You are.”

You pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“You’ll be such a great papa.”

He couldn’t hide the whimper from his throat, as you stroked his hair, the wet stain on your shirt growing larger.

 **Preston** : “I’m pregnant.”  You bit your lip and studied his reaction.

Preston’s sat with his mouth ajar, eyebrows arching up in surprise.

“Y-you’re what?”

“Pregnant.  I found out earlier today.”

“I-Oh my God – “Preston exhaled heavily, burying his head in his hands frantically.

“Preston?”  You reached over to gently pry his hands from his face, surprised at his seemingly adverse reaction.

“Are you not…happy?”

He looked up to you, “Well, of course I’m not – knocking you up like this isn’t exactly what I had planned…” Your heart twinged.

“I mean, I had initially planned on being married to you before trying for kids.  But I suppose we could fit it in before the due date right?”

“Wait – “ now it was your turn to be shocked.

“ _Marriage?_   We never talked about getting married before?”

Preston snorted, “Well, we never exactly planned on having kids either, but…it’s here now, so we have to deal with it.”

You still weren’t sure how you felt about Preston’s…strange reaction.  Was he happy about the addition to your little family?  Was he only marrying you to adhere to the atomic family model?

“But, hey, I mean, better late than never, right?”

You stared at him.

“Is this your… _proposal_?” you wrinkled your nose.   Not that you didn’t want to marry Preston, but the whole thing seemed strangely…contractual.

He frowned, “Are you saying ‘no’?”

“ _No_ , but…” you made a face, “I don’t want a shotgun wedding.”  

You reached over to grab his hand, squeezing it.

“When I marry again, I want to marry for love; and I want my partner to do the same.  I don’t mind doing things…a little out of order.  It doesn’t mean I love you or the baby any less.”

Preston gave a small apologetic smile.  

“I suppose you’re right.”

He leaned in to press a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “All that matters is that you, me, and, “his hand reached up to rest on your belly.

“ _we_  are going to become a family.”

Your lips melded together again.

“So, will you  _not_  marry me?” He murmured, and you laughed.

“Yes.”

 **X6-88:** “I’m…pregnant.”  You blushed; the whole notion seemed…a bit comical.  You were pregnant, and X6 was the father.  X6, despite being a third gen synth with all the ah- human capabilities that came with it, was still the single most  _robotic_  one of all; logical to a fault, and seemingly void of the whims of human passions.  Or so most thought - a few nights together had told you otherwise.

“I know,” he didn’t skip a beat.

“Your breasts are enlarged, and based on your reactions, tender.  You’ve been exhibiting morning sickness, which you’ve crudely tried to pass off as a ‘raging hangover’, and you’ve gained weight.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“How astute.” You muttered.

“I’m nothing if not observant, ma’am.”

You made a face, “Please don’t call me ma’am.  It’s too…clinical.  I mean, you’re the father of my child X6, does that mean anything to you?”

He nodded, “Of course, it means that you and I will be producing offspring with incredibly high cognitive faculties, as well as a visually desirable specimen among living things, with…a knack for conflict.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say X6’s cheeks were reddening.

“And, it means that you and I are…”

“Are?” you prompted, for once, very interested in what X6 thought was right.

“Unified.” He finally answered.

“Unified.” You repeated.

“Yes, together.  Two halves of a whole.  Unified.”

Your own cheeks reddened.

“Do…do you realize what you’re saying?  What I think you’re saying?”

He looked straight at her, and she was sure that without his shades, she’d burn up to a crisp under the fervor of his gaze.

“You know what I’m saying.”

It was in moments like these, quieter, subtle moments with X6 that he reminded you that he was closer to human than machine after all; although, this was the first time you had encountered one of these moments outside of love making.

“I need you to say it X6, please.”

“But you know what I mean,”

“Say it.”

He sighed, resigned and turned away.

“I love you.”

It was so quiet, so rushed, you weren’t even sure it had happened.  But you knew you wouldn’t be able to coax such a sentiment from him again for at least another thousand years.

This would have to do.


End file.
